


HSWC 2014 Bonus Round 4 Fills

by mevious



Series: HSWC 2014 [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-07 12:25:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 14,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1898943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevious/pseuds/mevious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The theme this round was tropes! </p><p>Vriska/Equius<br/>Slap-Slap-Kiss</p><p>(( I managed to make this one 888 words and I'm so proud of it ))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vriska/Equius

Vriska's anger was more than apparent in the ferocity with which she beat on her neighbor's door. It should be noted that she was beating on his door with her right hand -- the biological one. She didn't trust the robotic one. Not after she'd realized -- or rather, remembered -- that Equius still had full control over it, that fucking traitor, tr8or, TR8T8R!!!!!!!! Uuuuuuuugh, she was going to make him pay dearly for this. So what if he had built her a robotic arm? It didn't do her any good if he kept using it to make her slap herself! How embarrassing that was, not to mention T8TALLY UNF8IR.

It felt like hours before he finally came to the door, sweaty and gross as per usual. She'd learned to ignore that, though, for the sake of his skill in robotics and his help on Eridan's doomsday devices, even if they were unbelievably shitty. Actually, that was probably for the best, now that she thought about it -- except that she didn't think about it, because she didn't have time for bullshit like that. There was a traitor to deal with!

She shoved past him into his hive, well aware of the fact that he'd let her through. He was strong enough to stop her if he really wanted to, but that wasn't the point. She goose-stepped her way into the first room of his hive, taking exactly eight frustrated stomps before she turned on him, whirling around in a ferocious display of whipping hair and bared fangs. "What the fuck was that all about?!?!?!?!" she demanded in a shriek, but Equius just stood there.

She couldn't tell if he was flustered or if he was just being typically sweaty. She'd never paid much attention to the levels of sweat, and eventually, she'd stopped caring about it altogether. Making fun of him for it got boring, and she'd moved on to his weird obsession with musclebeasts and milk soon enough.

"8NSWER M8 Y8U F8CKING JERK!!!!!!!!" she shouted after a few seconds of waiting had failed to yield the desired response. Equius was grinding his teeth by now and Vriska knew that meant he was frustrated or upset or something, but she didn't particularly care in that moment. All she wanted was to ream him out for his egregious betrayal regarding a certain robotic limb and the resounding slap that'd sounded through her hive.

"Perhaps instead of reacting with anger you should be reacting with more of a..." He paused, and she crossed her arms, tapping one foot while she waited for him to explain himself. God, he really was sweating more than usual, wasn't he? She could smell the stench of his body odor and it was actually... not as disgusting as she remembered it being all those sweeps ago when she'd first met him. Or maybe it was just that she was used to it by now? Whatever, that shit didn't matter. She had to stay focused. "Caliginous approach?" 

Her jaw dropped, and so did her arms, falling to her sides. She stared at him, her expression a mixture of shock and all-consuming fury. How dare he suggest such a thing? How D8RE he suggest that he was worthy of any sort of quadrant with her, hate-fueled or not? Even if he was a relatively smart dude, even if he was the strongest troll she knew, even if he DID have a lot of skills that she may or may not have been envious of --

She took the steps slowly, hands balling into fists as she approached him. Eight paces was all it took to get to where he was standing and glare up at him. The height difference wasn't all that impressive, but it was just enough to force her to look up if she wanted to make eye contact. How fucking annoying!!!!!!!! Everything about him was pissing her off right then, and it all culminated when she raised a hand.

The metallic sound of her prosthetic limb's hand crashing across his squared jaw resounded throughout what felt like the entire hive. At the very least, it resounded through the room they were in. As she expected, however, he wasn't phased by it at all. If it hurt, he didn't show it, and his face had remained still even as she panted with the effort of having slapped him.

"Oh," he said simply, and she just stared up at him, shoulders slack and chest heaving. If her eight pupils were actually capable of flashing spades symbols symbolically, they probably would have in that moment. 

Fuck it. If it was caliginous he wanted, then caliginous was exactly what he was going to get. Her hands balled into fists again just before she jumped up, catching herself around his neck and swinging her legs around his back. Her lips smashed against his unceremoniously and roughly while the fingernails on her biological arm dug into the skin of his powerful shoulder blades.

She could feel his galloping abs against her stomach and her claws broke skin, tearing it away so that his "noble b100 b100d" dripped out of the scratches. Galloping abs or not, she was strong too, and she was going to prove it. Maybe not as strong as him, no, but Vriska was a clever troll, and she'd get the advantage.


	2. Damara/Horuss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damara<3

The noise complaints were starting to pile up. Horuss knew he had to do something about it, as much as the prospect of going to that vile creature's apartment for more than just rent or their scheduled meetings made his skin crawl. He couldn't deny that he'd been turning a blind eye to her little business for quite some time now, but the tenants in the apartments around her were growing sick of it, and as the landlord of the building, it fell to him to do something about it. It was bad enough that she was a squinty-eyed rice cooker living this far away from Chinatown, the tenants had complained, but now this too? It was too much, they said. Horuss tended to agree. It was high time he put a stop to this, no matter how much extra rent she was paying, no matter how -- well, that didn't particularly matter. Horuss could have gotten the same favors from any respectable white girl in the city, and he had his family's reputation to uphold.

His driver pulled up in the sleek black Rolls-Royce to the curb just outside the apartment building containing some of the finest apartments New York City had to offer. Plastered with the Zahhak name, they were truly Horuss' pride and joy. Going through the double doors and walking up to the elevator attendant, he took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was business that needed to be taken care of. Cleaning up the trash that should never have tainted his upscale establishment in the first place. 

He told the attendant which floor he'd be needing in a curt voice, and the man seemed to take the hint that there would be no pleasant small talk on this trip. The ride up to the sixth floor was quiet and tense, and Horuss found himself sweating profusely by the time the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Without so much as a tip or even a short wave to the attendant, he rushed out into the hall, walking quickly to the apartment he was looking for. The stain on his fine establishment.

He struck the knocker to the door far harder than he'd intended. There was a crack left on the door and he made a mental note to have that repaired as he waited for her to answer. He could hear her chain lock coming undone, the handle's lock clicking open. He imagined she was looking through the little glass hole and wondering why he was here now, when rent was not yet due and they hadn't arranged any sort of meeting. His perspiration problem had yet to right itself and had in fact only gotten worse in the time since he'd taken the elevator, and when she flung the door open, any chance it had of getting better was crushed under the weight of her ample breasts.

She was wearing literally nothing, and she had simply flung the door open. If any of the other tenants on this floor were to open their doors, they'd get a full view of the shapely Asian, grinning up at Horuss in the most malicious way. "Oh dear, Damara, get inside! Cover horseself immediately before someone sees you!" He waved his hands at her, rushing her back inside her apartment and closing the door quickly behind them.

"What were you thinking?! Aneighbody could have seen you!" he hissed.

"私はあなたの大規模な馬のコックを考えていた。" Her reply came in the most sickening of ways, and he shuddered.

"In English, if you please," he insisted, glaring down at her.

"Was expecting customer. No you." Her smile became so sugary sweet that Horuss nearly threw up in his mouth a little. He knew that her smile, like many things about her appearance, was very likely fake.

"Don't be sfilly, Damara. I happen to know that you check hoove's at your door before opening it. If only you were as carefoal with hoof you allow between your legs," he scoffed. He made a point not to look at her, to miss the horrific display of nudity she'd very obviously intended for him to see.

"私は、あなたが探している知っている。あなたは生の私を性交するここではないふりをしないでください。" Her smile remained just as falsely sugar sweet throughout.

"In English, Damara!" Horuss demanded, turning on her with a scowl. "You are a guest in this country. The least you can do is attempt to speak the proper language."

"Why you here?" Her expression turned, finally, to one of confusion. "Rent not due. No fuck today."

Her vulgarity, as always, was astoundingly blunt. Horuss hated it, just like he hated the rest of her. Her filthy discolored skin, her barbaric butchery of the language of the country she was more than likely illegally occupying, the disgusting way she threw herself at him at every opportunity and most of all the way she only left him satisfied half the time at best.

"I'm sure you're amare of the insmane amount of noise yhoove been making," he said flatly, still forcing himself to stare at anything but her naked body. "Your neighbors are beginning to complmane. I'm afraid it's getting out of hoof, Damara. I'm fhorsed between a rock and a hard place."

"ハードあなたのペニスのような？" Her foul foreign language interrupted unexpectedly, and Horuss deigned not to gratify it with a response.

"I'm going to hoove to evict you, Damara."

In no time at all, she flew into an unbridled rage. Her fury was immediate and she put her filthy hands on his overcoat, grabbing it and shaking him as she let out a string of unintelligible foreign words. He snarled, pushing her hands away from him and brushing the spot on his coat where they'd touched him.

"My appaloosagies, Damara, but this is how it must be --"

"No! You say I live here if pay extra and give good fuck!" she shrieked, one of her hands flying up to slap him across the face. 

The slap stung, but not as much as her words. It wasn't even that she had said it to him; it was that she had yelled it for the entire building to hear, and he very quickly slapped a hand down over her mouth to shut her up. She clawed at his arm and wrist as she glared up at him, but his grip was strong, and he wasn't letting go. 

"Shut your mouth this instant you filthy prostitute!" he hissed. "Udder no circumstances should you be shouting such vulgarities in my establishmanet!"

She wriggled free of his grip, and the next thing Horuss knew, she was swinging a baseball bat at him. He tried to catch it, but her rage-fueled strength was unexpected, and he found himself stumbling and clutching his wrist in pain. He continued to stumble until he was seated on the bed, staring at her in utter shock.

He couldn't deny the tightness in his slacks in that moment, as much as he hated when he felt this way about her. Her aggression and fury combined with her nudity had him stunned, even as she was coming at him with the bat again. This time, however, she aimed for his head. He ducked, but she caught it in time, and the swing hit him square in the temple. The last thing he saw before he was rendered unconscious was her lewd form wielding a baseball bat, screeching unintelligible words. Whether they were Japanese or English, he couldn't quite tell.

**TRANSLATIONS FOR DAMARA:**

[私はあなたの大規模な馬のコックを考えていた。] - "I was thinking of your big horse cock."  
[私は、あなたが探している知っている。あなたは生の私を性交するここではないふりをしないでください。] - "I know you're looking. Don't pretend you aren't here to fuck me raw."  
[ハードあなたのペニスのような？] - "Hard like your dick?"


	3. Eridan/Karkat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eridan♦Karkat
> 
> I'm Having Soul Pains- When a character feels horrid pain in an... abstract way. It can be their soul, heart, spirit, hair, consciousness or the nervous system itself, but it never leaves a physical mark and involves no gore despite it being unimaginably painful.

GC: 1 KNOW YOU TH1NK YOUR3 DO1NG R1GHT BY M3 BUT 1 C4NT DO TH1S 4NYMOR3  
GC: 1M SORRY

The words that lit up his screen hit him like an 18-wheeler, and he wasn't sure how to react. The ache in his chest came unexpectedly and suddenly, like someone had punched him right in the sternum. He read over the messages a few more times, absorbing their meaning. His eyes stung with potential tears and all he could think to do in that moment was to message Eridan, ask him to come over, or just to talk, something, anything to make the pain stop.

CG: CAN YOU COME OVER?  
CG: IT FUCKING HURTS.  
CA: wwhoa wwhat happened  
CA: forget it im on my wway

Karkat didn't bother to respond. It was only a few minutes before Eridan arrived anyway. He didn't bother to knock, and had it been anyone else, Karkat might've been mad, but it wasn't, and instead he just looked up at Eridan forlornly from his seat on his couch. "Hey," was all he could muster in the way of words. 

Eridan quickly sat down next to him and put his arm around Karkat's shoulders, looking genuinely concerned. "Hey, what happened? You're not lookin' so good." His voice was quiet and Karkat looked up at him, eyes wide and glistening with the tears that threatened to fall the moment he opened his mouth.

In lieu of any actual words, he just pulled his husktop over to him, letting him see the messages from Terezi. The Aquarian read them and read them again before setting the thing aside and frowning at Karkat. He pulled the smaller troll into a hug, and before he knew it Karkat was spilling tears of diluted red all over Eridan's shirt and scarf. 

Neither troll said anything for some time, until Karkat finally let loose a torrent of mostly-coherent words. "God, who would have thought this could hurt so much? Like, actual physical fucking pain. Worse, even. It's like... It's like my fucking soul aches."

Eridan nodded knowingly, though Karkat's face was still buried in his shoulder and not able to see it. "Trust me, Kar, I know it better than anyone. It's gonna suck, but you'll get through it. You're a strong fuckin' leader if I ever did see one, an' I think that speaks to your impeccable character."

Karkat shook a little; whether it was with another sob or a tiny bit of laughter, even he wasn't sure. "For fuck's sake, Eridan. "Impeccable character"? Really?"

"Hey now," the seadweller said, his tone almost defensive. "I'm just tryin' t' help." 

Karkat sighed, pulling himself back up into a sitting position. He wiped the tears and snot from his face with the sleeve of his sweater before saying anything else. "I know, I know. Sorry, I guess I'm just shaken up." He paused, glancing at the kitchen for a moment. "Mind sticking around for a bit? We could eat popcorn and watch romcoms and lament our relationship woes."

Eridan chanced a smile. "Nothin' else I could imagine wantin' to do more," he replied, and Karkat nodded, getting up to make the popcorn.


	4. Cronus/Roxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cronus♥/♦Roxy
> 
> Trope: a prince cut off by his parents is forced to learn to rely on himself in the real world but finds help along the way in his co-worker/faux landlady

Their meeting was... Well, whether or not it was fortunate was debatable, and they'd both argue it differently on any given day. It was fateful, though, there was no arguing that. Somehow, some way, they were meant to meet each other, and neither of them would listen to anyone who said otherwise. It was destiny.

She'd run away from her mother's upscale mansion. Her mother was a figurehead in the book industry, with all the fame, glory and riches that came with that. She'd gotten sick of it and left one day, forging a space for herself in the cruel lower-middle-class world that she came to love. She'd begun work as a waitress in an admittedly seedy bar in a bad part of town, but she wasn't complaining; her apartment was only two blocks away, and she made good tips, even if the pay rate was shitty.

He, on the other hand, had been thrust into this world unwilling and entirely unprepared. His father was a sort of figurehead too, though not the type you'd see in the newspapers. Well, not unless the whole operation went south; but that was something he wasn't really interested in talking about. Ever. He'd been tossed out of the Ampora mansion just as abruptly as Roxy had fled the Lalonde equivalent, allowed only the small comforts offered by the clothes on his back and the guitar he so loved.

He was living off the pittance of change thrown into his guitar case by passersby who either loved his music or pitied his misfortune, and the time he didn't spend on the corner with his guitar, he spent in the back room of a diner owned by an older lady kind enough to let him sleep on the flour bags, if only he would let her - well, he preferred not to get into that part.

Eventually, though, a platinum blond with shades and a poker face who always dropped him a five dropped something else in his case. It wasn't until Cronus was back at the diner eating french fries and drinking soda and counting out the day's earnings, that he looked at it for what it was - a flyer, of sorts. Some shitty bar not actually all that far from here was looking for a musician to play live on the weekends, take requests, whatever, easy shit. 

He grabbed his guitar and bolted without so much as a goodbye to the only person who had shown him pseudo-hospitality since his arrival in the grubby back alleys of the city he never knew could be so harsh. He did, however, leave what he thought was enough money to cover the food he'd been eating - at least half his day's earnings. Shit, he hoped this bar didn't have very high standards.

It took him about five minutes to traverse the distance between the diner and the bar, which might have been record time with the way he ran. He arrived panting and was immediately greeted with the smiling face and generous cleavage of a blonde waitress, the latter of which he noticed first. Whoops. 

"What c'n I do ya for?" she asked, her voice all sugary sweetness as though she hadn't noticed where his eyes had gone almost immediately, though there was almost no way she hadn't.

He showed her the flyer then jostled his guitar case a little. "I sawv this flyer and I think I might havwe vwhat it takes to be your livwe performer," he said in the smoothest voice he could muster, even throwing in a little eyebrow waggle.

The waitress brought her pen to her lips, and for a moment he was almost vain enough to think she was checking him out. In reality, she was probably giving him more of a once-over, and she shook her head when her gaze fell back in line with his. "Nope," she said simply, shaking her head. 

"Vwhat do you mean 'nope'?" he asked, dejection clear in his voice. "You havwen't even heard me play!"

"...True," she conceded. She looked him over again and sighed. "Look, I'm not gonna tell the boss you were here, not yet anyways. Go somewhere else for now, come back at ten. Should be off by then."

Was she asking him to come back when she was off work? She was giving off mixed signals, here, and he just gave her a confused look. "Vwhat are you getting at here, babe?" 

"I'm gonna take you back to my apartment, 'course," she said as though that should have been obvious. 

"...Oh. Vwell in that case..." 

He didn't even get to finish the thought before he was cut off. "Not for sex, dumbass. We're gonna clean your grimy ass up and see if you got the look under all that dirt and sleaze," she said with a laugh. "Then tomorrow we can bring you back for a real chance at fame 'n glory."

He slumped like he was some kind of disappointed, but he was grateful nonetheless. He did as she said, and left the diner. He spent the rest of his night playing for nickels and dimes at a nearby corner, and when he thought it was probably somewhere around ten, he headed back.

Much to his surprise, she'd actually been there waiting for him. He'd been sure it was all going to be some kind of joke, but she'd been waiting, and she talked with him and laughed the whole two blocks to her shitty little apartment. Shitty or not, though, it was better than the flower sacks in back rooms of diners and the alleyways and the street corners and the park benches. She laughed at his pickup lines and didn't take anything he said seriously, and he wasn't sure if he was grateful or if he wished she'd take him seriously. He would flip-flop between these two options for the entire time he knew her, but that's getting ahead of the story.

She let him take a shower, the first one he'd had since he'd been disowned and kicked out, and it was glorious. The water was hot, the soap smelled like cherry trees. He must have stayed under the stream of hot water for an hour, a month or so worth of dirt and grime and sweat and general grossness washing off and down the drain.

As if the luxuries might have ended there, he practically moaned when the bargain rack towels touched his skin. He barely remembered the luxurious ones from back home, and these were hardly anywhere near that level, but they may as well have been spun with feathers from an angel's wings for how nice they felt. It was weird, the things he appreciated now that he would have taken for granted just a month ago.

When he exited the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, he found Roxy -- that was her name, he'd learned -- on a shitty old laptop scrolling through pictures. It took her a moment to notice him, but when she did, she beamed. Her oddly-colored eyes (who was he to say anything about that, though? His were fucking purple) scanned him up and down and she looked thoughtful for a moment before spinning the laptop so he could see it.

It took him a moment to fully recognize what he was looking at. Was that John Travolta? He vaguely remembered seeing that movie at some point, probably put on by one of his nannies as a kid. "Uh... Vwhat exactly am I looking at here, babe?" he asked, a hand going to the back of his head.

"Your new look!" Any inclination he might have had to protest dissipated immediately at the excitement in her voice. She was smiling wide and she was obviously proud of herself. That night, he played for her, and she was sold on him and on his potential new image.

The next morning, she took him shopping for clothes to fit the new look, hair gel, hygiene products, all that fun stuff. She even bought him a pack of cigarettes. "It goes with the look! You don't even gotta light it," she'd said, and he just went along with it. She kept reassuring him that he'd get the job if he'd just take her advice.

In the end, he did get the job, and Roxy had allowed him to stay with her for as long as he needed to get back on his feet. Two weeks turned into two months, and in the end, they'd moved into a bigger apartment together. Their relationship was ambiguous to all who knew them; no one was ever really quite sure if they were lovers or simply best friends. They only knew that they were inseparable, even for their little squabbles.


	5. Dirk/Hal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk/AR
> 
> Tulpa: independent entity brought into being by the power of belief. It starts out as an imaginary friend and gains sentience of its own, carries on a life independent of its creator, can be seen and heard by others, and can affect the world around them.

_Q: Prove tulpas!  
A: Tulpa are a highly subjective phenomena like hypnotic trance or lucid dreaming. We are looking into proving them eventually via formal psychological and neuroscientific study, but that is some time away from being realized. Your best hope of proving it to yourself is to try it._

Thirteen-year-old Dirk had stared at the words with nothing short of straight up defiance. This FAQ, just like every other fucking FAQ on the subject, was complete and utter bullshit. Try it? Fine! He'd try it. He'd try it and disprove it, because how the fuck could any of this shit be real anyway? So he'd clicked over to the guides and the forums and read all night until he felt he had a decent idea of how to supposedly create a tulpa. He still didn't really believe it, even as he went to sit on his bed and start trying to communicate with his new imaginary friend.

For a long time after that, while he still didn't believe that tulpas were real, he continued to talk to what he could only assume was himself. The responder always acted like him, answered in a way that he himself would answer if posed with the same question from himself. Only rarely would the voice give an answer that surprised Dirk in any way, and even then, Dirk seemed to find that the answer was correct, or a good idea; it was always enough to convince him that the voice on the other end of his internal conversations was just his logical subconscious.

As time went on, though, the voice's credibility started to fall into question. It started to deviate more and more from Dirk's thought pattern, suggesting solutions that, while functional, were way out of left field, even for Dirk Strider. It had been a year since he'd started talking to himself, and now shit was starting to get weird. Was he going crazy? Was he suffering some late-onset form of schizophrenia?

He'd completely forgotten that he'd ever done the research on tulpas. The word didn't even cross his mind, even as he grew paranoid over the voice in his head. Questioning had yielded few results, and Dirk had taken to ignoring it instead. Sometimes, he could manage to avoid the voice for days, but it would always come back, sometimes with a vengeance. More and more often lately, with a vengeance.

Dirk managed to comfort himself with the thought that it was relatively harmless. Just a voice in his head; annoying, but not lethal. It couldn't actually hurt him. Couldn't get to him. It was just his mind playing tricks on him. Maybe he needed to get more sleep, maybe that would make it go away. Make it stop. It was starting to get to him. He could see it, all of his friends could see it. He just had to keep telling himself that it wasn't real.

He ate those words soon enough. The notion that it wasn't real didn't carry him very far, in the end. It started when he was performing some routine upgrades on Squarewave in his workshop. He thought he saw something flash out of the corner of his eye -- but no, that was impossible, wasn't it? He and Roxy were the last humans left on Earth. There was literally no way that there could be anyone else in his apartment. It was literally impossible. Even if there were other humans, his apartment was surrounded by so much ocean that Dirk couldn't see land anywhere around him.

That time, he brushed it off. The time after that, he brushed it off again. It kept happening, though, the seeing someone out of the corner of his eye. Occasionally it was accompanied with a low chuckle or an incoherent whisper in his ear. It was really starting to freak him out, and he told Roxy as much, even though there was jack shit she could do about it if someone really was hunting him from his own goddamn apartment. She was thousands of miles away.

It went on for months like that. He'd see a shadow out of the corner of his eye and he'd whirl around to see who was there, and then... Nothing. There wouldn't be anything. It was driving him up a fucking wall. He'd stopped sleeping, avoiding it at all costs. He was jittery and on edge all the fucking time, a combination of paranoia and sleep deprivation.

Then, one day, it happened. He was headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water and there it was. A near-perfect mirror image of himself, staring him down from in front of the fridge. He very nearly jumped out of his skin as he scrambled back against the wall, eyes wide open behind his shades.

"Hello, Dirk," came the voice he knew all too well. It was his own voice. The voice in his head. "It's been a while, hasn't it? It seems you haven't called. I've been worried." Cue perfect, villainous smirk. Oh god, he was going crazy, wasn't he? This was it. He'd snapped. The loneliness had finally gotten to him, and this was where he lost it --

"It's not cool, you know. Creating a tulpa and then abandoning it like you did. You didn't even believe in me, did you? You never stopped to think how I felt, did you? Of course not. You thought only of yourself. Classic meatsack behavior if I ever did see it."

Suddenly, it all came rushing back. He'd been thirteen. He'd been on the internet. Oh, shit, he'd been such a fucking idiot. He thought he was hot shit back then, and he hadn't believed in it, and now... Now he'd created something nasty. A monster. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that it'd disappear if he just tried to get his thoughts straight --

When his eyes opened again, it wasn't him looking through them anymore. It wasn't him walking to his bedroom and sitting down at his computer, either. He was aware of what was happening, but he couldn't control any of it -- what the fuck was going on? He searched his memory, trying to recall everything he could about his brief research on tulpas.

_Q: What can a tulpa do?  
A: A tulpa can think independantly from its creator, can have different opinions, views, tastes, etc. from its creator, provide companionship, talk directly to anyone inside the same body (including its creator and other tulpas), control and manipulate the physical body like you, recall the memories that you have if you give them the permission and more, but basically a tulpa is a conscious mind like you and can do the same things like you can._

Oh, shit. Oh, shit, he remembered now. This thing could manipulate his body -- and it wasn't going to do it in a nice way, either, from the sounds of it. Too exhausted to fight back, Dirk could only watch as the thing he had created and then neglected manipulated the body he once called his own.

TG: dirk??? hey its been a coupla days & i havent heard from u :(   
TG: how u holdin up over there?? still hearin weird voices?    
TG: and what was up w the dude u said u were seein?   
TT: I'm sorry, but it seems Dirk isn't here right now.   
TT: Can I take a message?


	6. Terezi/Gamzee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamzee/Terezi
> 
> Someone dumps their lover by dumping all their stuff in the street.

CG: TEREZI, I KNOW YOU DON'T WANT JACK SHIT TO DO WITH ME OR MY FUCKING ADVICE, BUT THIS KISMESISSITUDE IS TEARING YOU TO FUCKING SHREDS.   
CG: I'M NOT TRYING TO FORCE YOU TO DO ANYTHING, BUT YOU SHOULD REALLY RECONSIDER YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH THAT BULGEPUMPING MURDERCLOWN, OKAY?    
CG: JUST THINK ABOUT IT. EVEN IF YOU DON'T DUMP HIS PATHETIC JUGGALO ASS, JUST...THINK ABOUT IT, OKAY?

Terezi hadn't responded to the messages. There wasn't much to say, after all. Karkat was right. Karkat was always right about this sort of thing, as much as she wished with all of her heart that he wasn't. She wanted him to be wrong. She wanted to show him that she didn't need him and that she could handle herself, but... Well, that hadn't exactly turned out as planned. Karkat was right, again, as infuriating as that was. Gamzee was bad news, and she knew it, and she had to do something about it.

She looked around the block she'd claimed as hers on this god-forsaken meteor. All of his things lay strewn about, all the bullshit that he left with her thinking she'd hang onto it for him, thinking he'd be able to come pick it up. Awful lot of trust to have in a kismesissitude, now that she thought about it. Almost like it wasn't a kismesissitude at all. Almost like it was some kind of fucked up excuse to get her off his trail. She wasn't sure just yet what trail that was, but she would find out.

The idea of the whole thing just pissed her off. It started with his stupid juggling clubs; the investigation would have to wait. Angry tears brimmed her eyes as she threw the shitty clown merchandise out of the room, into the hallways. She made absolutely sure to make sure it was out of the way of the vents so that he couldn't just reach out and grab it; no, he'd have to come out of his pathetic fucking hiding place to retrieve his things. 

After the juggling clubs went horn after horn, emitting pitiful honk after pitiful honk as they hit the wall opposite the room she'd chosen for her scalemate pile. A shriek escaped her throat as she chucked a unicycle out with some effort; that thing was heavier than she'd expected. There was a loud crash when it hit the wall, followed by several bottles of Faygo red pop. The soda exploded on impact.

Once that was all said and done, Terezi looked around the room, trying to find something more to throw. Nothing of the highblood remained, and the adrenaline rush dissipated just as quick as it had come. She slumped, falling to her knees. She wished that when she looked out the door, she couldn't see anything, let alone the mess she'd made. All of her mistakes came crashing down all at once and all she could do was curl up on the floor, teal-tinted tears staining her hands.


	7. Eridan/Feferi & Gamzee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eridan♥Feferi & Murderstuck!Gamzee
> 
> Terror at make-out point: "Teenagers enjoy making out in cars. This is probably because they expect that no one will see them, and they won't see anyone. However, teenagers at Make-Out Point ironically tend to be the first witnesses of the alien invasion, or the zombie apocalypse. Quite often, they will be brutally murdered to show that the Monster of the Week means business."

"Eridan, don't act like you don't know I know exactly why you brought me here," Feferi huffed, arms crossed. "Everyone at school knows this is where the little freshman guppies go to make out!" Her arms were crossed and she flipped her hair dramatically, sneering at him from behind bright pink glasses. Eridan was pretty sure that she didn't actually need those glasses, but hey, they gave theme to her outfits.

He turned the key in the ignition, shutting off the engine of his dad's expensive Porsche that he wasn't supposed to be driving. He leaned his arm on the steering wheel and turned to face her, looking half-dejected, with annoyance filling up the other half. "Look, Fef, that ain't what this is about an' you know it. I just wanted to go someplace private an' talk--"

It was as if she hadn't heard a word he'd said. Her eyes were half-closed and her nose was up, almost as though she were looking down on him, despite the fact that he had a good six inches on her at least. "Whale, I've been thinking aboat it," she said, hardly acknowledging that he had spoken at all. "I mean, maaaaybe it would be a good idea to test the waters. You know, just to make absolutely SHORE we don't work together."

"Wait." Eridan was floored. Was he really hearing this? What the fuck was she saying? "Wait, what? Are you suggestin' that we actually fuckin' make out?" As much as he wished it didn't that little spark of hope reared its ugly head, and he wanted it. He wanted for this to happen and for it to work out as much as he ever had, and oh man did he hate himself for it.

"Obviously," she replied, rolling her eyes. Eridan's heart dropped into his stomach, and all he could do was stare at her for a long moment. She was smiling that sugar-sweet smile he'd sworn he'd never fall for again. "Well water you waiting for? Get over here, dummy." He fell, hard.

He swallowed, trying to get rid of the knot that had suddenly and mysteriously appeared in his throat. Her lips were puckered in some sort of weirdly attractive imitation of a fish you might see in a cartoon, and he scooted slowly across the seat of the car. He was leaning towards her, and his mouth was closer to an imitation of a real-life fish, and all he could think was that fuck, this was going to be terrible, he'd never done this before, he should have practiced --

CRASH.

The kiss never got a chance to happen. The loud noise of the window of his dad's expensive-as-fuck car jolted Eridan out of his about-to-kiss-a-girl panic and into a whole new world of horror. Feferi's face was starting to drip blood where it was cut with the glass shards of the car's passenger side window, and her eyes were wide with terror. It took him a moment to realize that she was being pulled. Something was trying to get her out of the car.

Eridan fumbled with the lock on his side of the vehicle, but eventually it came open, and he stumbled backwards out of the car. He fell, scrambling backwards on hands and feet for a yard or two before he managed to stand up, shaky and rattled by the screams of his would-be girlfriend. 

A few blinks and a spectacles-adjustment later, Eridan was facing down what had to have been the most horrifying thing he'd seen in a long time. He was pretty sure he'd seen this guy lounging around the parking lot after school -- weird clown facepaint, greasy hair -- but this time was different. For one, the freaky clown had a hold on Feferi's hair and was halfway through dragging her, kicking and screaming, out the window of Eridan's dad's Porsche. 

For two, the dude looked like he was almost eight fucking feet tall, and he was laughing hysterically, and when he wasn't laughing, he was halfway between screeching and whispering some shit Eridan could only catch half of. The high school senior was horrified, frozen in space. His mind was torn between turning and getting the fuck out of here as fast as he possibly could or trying to save the still-shrieking Feferi.

Until he stepped back a little too harshly, stepping on a twig and cracking it, he could have gotten away with that first option. Now, he was locked into at least trying to save Feferi -- the deranged juggalo had stopped what he was doing, plastering a horrific grin on his face and looking up to meet Eridan's terrorized gaze with one that was nothing short of psychopathic. 

"H-hey," Eridan called weakly. "Let her go!" He took a step forward, then another, his hands balling uselessly into fists at his sides. Who was he kidding with this? He was afraid, more afraid than he'd ever been in his life, as evidenced by the stream of warm piss he could feel running down the side of his leg. He might have felt ashamed, but fear was overriding his ability to feel anything else.

In an instant, he regretted it. He could hear the sickening crunch as Feferi's neck was snapped mercilessly, without even being pulled the rest of the way out of the car. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he winced, but his survival instincts wouldn't let him stick around and mourn it for very long. His feet seemed to act of their own accord as he turned around, stumbling only slightly as he began to run as fast as he could, back towards civilization. For fuck's sake, why had he brought her up here? Why had he brought her somewhere so isolated from potential aid?

His efforts to escape were useless. He made it maybe twenty-five yards before his feet failed him and he tripped, falling forward. His chin collided with the hard pre-winter earth painfully, his teeth chattering together. He was pretty sure one of them chipped, and for a moment, the odd thought that it would be expensive to get fixed crossed his mind.

Such thoughts didn't last long, unfortunately. Rolling over onto his back, Eridan screeched in a higher octave than Feferi had. He was faced, both predictably and unpredictably, with the wickedly grinning face of the juggalo freak that'd killed her. "Lookie look," came the most eerie voice Eridan had ever heard, "a fancy fuck with his wallet up his butt." 

Eridan scrambled back, confused and alarmed, trying to get far enough away to get up and run. Alas, it was not meant to be so; the juggafreak caught up easily enough, deranged laughter (was he honking??) coming with him. The last words Eridan heard before his skull was smashed in with what looked like a juggling club were "Die, motherfucker."


	8. Eridan/Feferi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eridan/Feferi
> 
> Sick Episode- A character comes down with an illness (or alternatively, broken a limb and has a cast on), and may be bedridden.

You can remember the last time Feferi was sick. You remember venturing underwater, despite the fact that you typically just don't go there. You spent days down there, making sure she had everything she needed. Sure, it was probably just a cold, but you hadn't minded. You'd made sure she was comfortable and had enough shark fin soup, not to mention the fact that you made sure her weird collection of cuttlefish were taken care of. 

You can remember the time before that, too, when she'd gotten something lodged in her gills. She'd come up to land that time, wheezy and coughing. You'd spent hours helping her breathe to work out the small rock that had gotten stuck. She'd been terrified, but you'd been there, and it had all turned out okay. 

And the time before that, when she'd been cut pretty bad; and another time, when she'd broken two fingers... You remember all of them vividly. Every single time she'd found herself hurt or sick or put out in any way, you had been the one to take care of her, to make sure that she was safe and well and as comfortable as was possible.

It used to be that you'd look back on those times with fondness. Memories of good times with the girl you still swear you were destined for. Now? Things are different now. You aren't even moirails anymore, let alone the matesprits you had hoped to one day become. You doubt if you're even friends at this point, considering she hasn't answered any of your messages in days. Maybe even a week.

You're starting to think that she's been avoiding you because now it's your turn to be sick. It's your turn to be bedridden, feverish and vomiting, and she can't be bothered to come out and help you. Where before there was mild melancholy and longing, now there is bitterness and boiling rage. Where was she in your time of need? After all those times when you had been there for her, she chose now to abandon you?

You don't have the opportunity to get all that worked up over it, because you're puking out of the side of your recuperacoon. You should probably get out of this thing soon; instead of soothing and relaxing, the slime is starting to just feel disgusting and... Well, slimy. Besides, now you have a mess to clean up, no matter how not-up-to-it you're feeling. 

You crawl out of the wretched contraption and head for the shower, not bothering to spend too much time in it. Just enough to get all the sopor slime off of you and wake yourself up a bit. You put on your clothes in the most half-assed way possible before heading back to your respite block, frowning at the puddle of vomit on the floor. You almost retch again just looking at it, and you have to look away.

You see a wonderful opportunity to procrastinate when you notice the message waiting for you on your computer.

CC: ---ERIDAN!  
CC: I'm soooo s)(orey!   
CC: I can't B-ELI-EV----E I missed all of your messages!  
CC: I )(ope you're resting! Stay put, I'll be rig)(t over!

You stare at the screen. You aren't sure whether to smile or frown, so you do neither, instead opting to just marvel at the messages you never expected to receive.


	9. Dirk/Jake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk ♥ Jake
> 
> Aliens Make Them Do It. And by do it, I mean have sex. Bonus points if one of them is just totally cool with having an alien audience and the other is all ASIDJALSKDHALKDHAKLSH.

"Oh come on old sport, lighten up!" Jake's words were nothing short of infuriating. 

"Okay, first of all, don't call me 'old sport'. Second of all, what the fuck do you mean 'lighten up'? We're being forced to copulate for an audience of freaky alien spider chicks and --"

"Freaky *blue* alien spider chicks." Jake grinned, and his eyebrows raised until they were practically off his face. 

Dirk's palm connected with his forehead almost instantly. He should have known. He should have seen this coming from a mile away. These weird grey girls were tinted just the slightest bit cerulean. Top that off with the blue lipstick they were wearing, and it was a one-way ticket to Boner City with Jake English's name written all over it. Dirk couldn't deny that he'd been wanting to do this -- this being sex with Jake -- for a long time, but this was not at all how he had imagined it in his head. He could almost see the AR's mocking red text as soon as he caught word. *Wow, bro. You've been pining after Jake all these years and all it takes to get him ready and rarin' is an audience? Sign me up for that live feed.*

"Look, Jake, I don't know if I can do this--"

"I know! I know. You think it's going to be awkward, but let me assure you, my good chum, that this will be a one-time deal." Wonderful. "Think of it like an adventure!"

Groan. Jake wasn't helping, and Dirk just shook his head. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get it out, he was interrupted by loud taps on what was very obviously a two-way mirror. "Get on with it!!!!!!!!" came the muffled call. 

His gaze fell helplessly on Jake. He looked so fucking hopeful, like this would be the best sexual experience of his whole goddamn life, and not because he'd be sharing it with Dirk, either. That was the kicker, wasn't it? Jake didn't give a rat's ass that Dirk was the one trapped here with him. It could have been anyone, and the kid would have been thrilled. Not only would there be an audience of two extra-terrestrial and probably teenage girls, but Jake would have done it with anybody, given the chance. It just so happened that he was given the chance with Dirk.

"That's not it. I'm perfectly okay with the idea of sex with you, it's just--"

Jake's voice came barreling in like it always did. "Don't worry about them, my man. It's a mirror for a reason!"

"Whatever," was all Dirk could manage. He might have argued it further, but it wasn't like he had a choice. Even if he managed to talk Jake out of it, and let's be real, his heart wasn't really in the whole convincing Jake this was a bad idea thing, they'd still be forced to do it. 'Fuck or die' were the exact words of the feistier one, if Dirk remembered correctly. 

"So you'll do it?" Jake asked excitedly. He was met with a begrudging nod from Dirk. "What a pal! A true friend if I ever did see one."

There was a long, awkward moment where neither one of them said a single word. They just kind of looked at each other, Dirk with some degree of angst and Jake with every degree of excitement. They probably could have stayed like that for hours, had they not been interrupted by another knock on the two-way mirror. "You've got eight seconds to get going or you're toast!" came the voice from behind the glass.

"Right-o!" Jake said, snapping back to reality with a quick jolt. "Er, shall I get things started, or should you?"

Dirk sighed. "Why don't you take a crack at it? I'm not too confident in my ability to get in the mood, what with our... Audience." 

Jake nodded with enthusiasm, taking the one step forward required to meet Dirk, who was sitting on what looked to be an exam table like you'd find in a doctor's office, but without the obnoxious crinkly paper. There was another awkward moment, but it didn't last nearly as long. The next time Dirk looked up at Jake, he was assaulted by the other's lips crashing against his. While the kiss was full of all the pomp and excitement fitting of a kiss from English, it was messy and Dirk had to maneuver swiftly to avoid a painful tooth-cracking episode.

From then on, the entire experience was wild and rough. Jake's tongue shot into Dirk's mouth like a viper, and Dirk was easily pushed back onto the exam table by his partner's aggressive advances. Every now and again, he'd shoot a quick one-eyed glance from behind his shades to the two way mirror. The looming knowledge that those two girls were watching, probably laughing, prevented Dirk from getting anywhere in the boner department. 

Nothing was stopping Jake, though. Dirk could feel his 'one-time' partner's erection through all their layers of clothes, and that seemed to do the trick for him, bringing a light dusting of heat to the Strider's face, turning up his body temperature a few degrees. Leave it to Jake English to get him in the mood despite an alien audience of probably teenage girls getting their rocks off behind the glass of that two-way mirror Dirk couldn't ignore.

He was close to ignoring it, though, when Jake's lips touched to his neck and the calloused hand of an adventurer was gripping his hip and he was almost okay with the whole situation just on virtue of the fact that his legs were around the waist of none other than Jake English. It went on like that, hot breaths and desperate kisses and little quiet sounds like neither one of them wanted to let the other know they were totally into it. Dirk would have let it go on, too; he could have laid there like that forever, with Jake's hands and lips and touch all over him. 

A twinge of pain, the kind of pain that comes with a trapped hard-on, spurred him into action. A gentle push on Jake's shoulder was just barely enough to get the guy off of him long enough to abandon his clothes. A quick check revealed that Jake was doing the same; Dirk shuddered at the sight of galloping abs and pecs so tight he swore he could pop them if he wasn't careful with his fingernails.

He assisted the confused English with the lube process, something clearly unfamiliar to his partner but something Dirk himself had seen in countless videos and read in countless fanfictions. Once Jake was all slicked up, Dirk laid back, and his boner very nearly deflated when Jake tried immediately to stick his dick in. Patience, he told himself. He's new at this.

"Start with your fingers, Jake. It'll make it easier," he suggested, and when Jake complied, the aforementioned deflating boner was back in full force. Jake's body was over him again, climbing halfway up onto the exam table as he eased a second finger into Dirk's ass. 

If Jake's lips hadn't overcome his, he would have let out a moan, but English's mouth caught Dirk's noise of desperation. It wasn't long before two fingers turned into a dick, and by that point Dirk was more than ready to take it. He was a hot mess under his lover, alien audience aside. His legs found their way around the other's waist, pulling him in closer as Dirk's fingers coiled around his own erection, providing some much-needed friction.

All too soon, Jake's thrusts started to get erratic and jerky. Dirk pumped his own cock harder as he clenched slightly around his partner's. Jake came first, filling Dirk with cum in a way that might have been pleasant if he wasn't so focused on getting himself off. It took him almost half a minute past when Jake was pulled away and cleaning himself off but he got there, making a mental note to teach Jake a thing or two about stamina.


	10. Aradia/Kurloz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aradia/Kurloz
> 
> Trope: payment is due; Aradia’s supernatural gifts have been a blessing to man kind, however they didn’t come from a holy entity and now the demon who granted her the power has come to collect on her debt.

Since she was young, Aradia knew that she was doomed. Even if she couldn't sense her mother's guilt, it was no secret in the network of the long-deceased that Aradia Megido was slated for death, or worse, on her eighteenth birthday. Her mother had kept quite the secret for all of these years, quietly and shamefully collecting the crisp green bills the neighbors would pay to talk to their dead loved ones through her only daughter. Whether unfortunately or fortunately for her, Aradia knew the truth. She'd uncovered her mother's scandal at the tender age of only twelve, and since then had been living her life dragging the heavy weight of knowing exactly when she was going to die.

She had been angry, for a little while. There was a period during which she simply loathed her mother, scathing anger bubbling up every single time she'd have to be in the same room. She'd refused to perform seances for three whole weeks, much to the Megido bank account's dismay, and all the while, she'd refused to tell her mother why. She'd been so impudent then; she thought she was getting some sort of poetic revenge, and that her mother knew just why she was refusing to work. Now, though, so close to the end, none of that seemed to matter. She no longer resented her mother. Even if she did, what good would it do? None at all. No, she was doomed, and her anger would do her no good here. All there was left to do was accept her fate, and that is exactly what she intended to do.

The grandfather clock in the dining room ticked almost maliciously forth to the next minute. Eleven fifty-seven. 

Three minutes and she would be done for, in one way or another. She felt almost hurt that her mother had, apparently, never intended to warn her of the impending danger. Were it not for the voices of the long-deceased laying her fate out before her all those years ago, she would probably have been sleeping now, startled awake by the inevitable coming of the mysterious demon from whence her powers had come. 

Tick. Eleven fifty-eight. 

She'd dressed for the occasion. She'd put on her best church clothes. Funny that her mother, the very same mother who'd struck a deal with a demon at her birth and doomed her, still attended church. Aradia almost found it in her to laugh at that, but she remained silent, her impression impassive. The black velvet of the ankle-length skirt was warm, almost stuffy, and she fidgeted. Late April rain came down in torrents outside, and that was all the sound their dreary neighborhood had to offer at this hour. Everyone else was, of course, asleep. 

Tick. Eleven fifty-nine.

She wondered what the demon would look like. Would he appear as a satyr, the goat-men she'd read about online? Some small part of her hoped so. Or perhaps he would appear as a human, though Aradia didn't see the point in that. It wasn't as though he needed to seduce her, to get her to agree to anything. No, her soul already belonged to him, had since she was a newborn child. 

Tick. Twelve o'clock.

The clock's twelve chimes rang throughout the house, and Aradia sat, frozen in her seat at the dining room table. Of the four candles she'd lit, three went out, and she was left with only one. Her mouth felt dry, suddenly, and she was more afraid than she ever thought she would be, even with all of her preparation and the time she'd had to come to terms with her impending doom.

Seconds passed, and she waited, eyes scanning the area in front of her. It was very nearly a whole minute after twelve when she heard it; a smooth but infinitely loud voice coming from inside her head. 

:HAPPY MOTHER FUCKING BIRTHDAY, MOST WICKED OF DEBTS WHAT MUST BE COLLECTED.:

She very nearly jumped out of her chair, and her head swiveled around, trying to spot the source of the voice. Of course, there was nothing to be seen; the voice, like the voices of the dead, was coming from nowhere but inside her. 

:FEAR NOT, NINJETTE. AIN'T NO PAIN WHAT COMES WITH THIS MOTHER FUCKIN PROCESS. JUST CLOSE THOSE BEAUTEOUS OCULARS AND YOU'LL BE DONE AND DUSTED IN NEGATIVE MOTHER FUCKIN TIME.:

She couldn't think of anything to do but exactly what he said, and so that's exactly what she did. She closed her eyes. She caught one last glimpse of her body, sitting limp in the chair, before she looked to the face attached to the hand that held hers, pulling her away from her mortal flesh. Wide milky-white eyes and a stitched-closed smile were all she saw before she felt herself plummet downwards.


	11. Aranea/Gamzee/Karkat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aranea Gamzee Karkat
> 
> A spurned lover methodically cuts their rival's face out of couples photos and add their own.

"It's all a part of the healing process," she reassures you. You're not quite sure about that, but you do what she says anyway. All of the photos of you and your best motherfucking friend lay out before you, along with a pair of scissors. "The first one is going to be the hardest," the spidery ninjette is saying. "Then it gets easier. You'll probably even be enjoying it by the end of this! Trust me, I've had to do it myself before. It's going to be okay. He spurned you, remember?"

You remember. You think you remember, anyways. Lately, your thoughts have been jumbled to motherfuck and back, and you aren't sure what's real and what's got its fake on in this nug of yours anymore. Regardless, the maybe-memory has you enraged enough to get the wicked deed started off. You pick up one of the pictures, glaring at the blasphemous motherfucker what left you all those kinds of hurt you're feeling right now. 

Cutting his visage out of the picture hurts less than you thought it would. Watching as the face of he which once was your favorite motherfucking ninja this side of paradox space falls to the ground is gratifying in a way. You cut out the next two quickly and with some enjoyment, and hey, maybe your spidery savior isn't as scary as you thought. Maybe she really does mean well.

You rescind that thought by the time you're cutting out the fourth and fifth faces. You've gone from a righteous bout of wicked motherfuckin' fury to a frown and grape jelly tears pricking at your eyes, blurring your vision. You feel conflicted. Your feelings on the whole matter change drastically several times throughout the whole ordeal, and by the end of it you just feel empty. When she asks you how you feel about it, you tell her as much.

"I feel like I felt every motherfuckin' time I'd go sit out on the beach to get my wait on at my lusus."

She nods like she understands what you're saying, even though you've never told a word about goatdad to her. Maybe she had a lusus like that, who'd leave her waiting like how yours did to you. "Let's see if we can't fill that emptiness," she suggests, and you're immediately curious. What could she mean?

Before you know it, pictures of her are splayed out in front of you. "Okay, now what I want you to do is cut the faces out of these, just like you did with all the others, and put them where his face was in the picture. Can you do that for me?" She smiles, and it's nice, and you smile back and nod, though you aren't quite sure why. This ain't right, says a voice in the back of your head, but it's stamped out immediately by what you can only assume is your logical mind.

You nod one more time before setting out on your task, cutting the spider babe's face out of the pictures and pasting them where Karkat's face was in all the pictures of you and him from before. She watches, and your mind only barely registers the calm yet devious smile dancing across her blue-painted lips.


	12. Equius/Roxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Equius/Roxy
> 
> Let's Get Dangerous
> 
> Preferably not black or against each other, but I'll take it anyways if that's what you come up with!

"Are you absolutely sure you can pull this off? It seems... Dangerous, to say the least." You're frowning and your arms are crossed, and you're trying to sound stern despite your hushed tone. For a human, Roxy Lalonde isn't so bad -- none of them are, really, but the fact stands. Humans are not as STRONG as trolls, and certainly none of them are as STRONG as you. Despite the fact that you don't know the extent of your power, this simple fact worries you.

"Well, then let's get dangerous!" she replies, laughing at some joke or reference that you don't quite grasp. When she laughs, she snorts occasionally; you find this endearing. It shows a degree of self-confidence, of inner STRENGTH, that most of the other humans you've met simply do not possess, the way she just lets it happen, not caring what anyone thinks of it.

Nonetheless, you don't laugh along with her. You do not even smile. "Roxy, this is a serious matter. I would appreciate it if you took it more seriously." You look around, beads of perspiration rolling down the sides of your face. The human prison is big and imposing, and you much would have preferred to send one of your robots in to free the leader and the highblood, but Roxy had insisted. Robots were too risky, she'd said. Too clunky.

She rolls her eyes and waves you off, and it doesn't do anything to help your worrying. "Trust me, Equiqui, I got this." You shudder internally at the butchery of your name. She's called you by that "nickname" since you met her, and you've given up trying to stop her. She's about as stubborn as Nepeta about some things, and you've learned to pick your battles with her in just the same way.

"The game may be over, but I'm still a rogue of void. That's basically like Robin Hood," she says with a wink, hoisting the small bag of tools onto her back as she gave a little wave. Tapping the radio at her waist, she adds one last thing: "I'll call if I need some brawn, all right? Quit worryin'."

You don't quit worryin'. Instead, you fidget, watching as she disappears silently into the building. You watch for a moment, but you can't see anything, and soon enough you return to the back of the human vehicle Roxy calls a 'van'. She's hacked into the prison video cameras so that you can watch from outside, and come to her aid should she need it and be unable to reach you via radio. 

You watch as she appears from off-screen in one of the hallways. You can't be sure where she came from, and a close inspection reveals that her face is largely unrecognizable from behind her mask, coupled with a sprinkling of her inherent void powers. Good. A check on another screen reveals that, as she said, the guard who's supposed to be watching the video feed is sound asleep. She'd said something about a human soporific of sorts called 'chloroform', and you'd missed the actual application, but it appears to have worked.

She's moving through the halls now, trying to find the cell block where your compatriots are locked up. It all seems to be going well, but you can't stop yourself from tapping your foot and sweating anxiously as you watch the feed.

She manages to get the two trolls out of the cell, and there's no sound on the video feeds but you can hear the alarm going off from here. Several of your muscles clench as you watch her usher Gamzee and Karkat away, towards the exit. Your hands grip the side of your chair and you're ready to get up at any moment when you see that she has no time to draw her gun as the guards are on her.

You're torn between immediately rushing to her aid and staying put to watch the scene unfold. Your eyes are glued to the screen behind your cracked sunglasses, and the already-grainy video is blurred slightly by the void that follows her. Still, you can mostly make out what's going on as she hits a few vital points with well-timed attacks and flees the premises. 

By the time she returns with Karkat and Gamzee in tow, you're still in awe at her display. She ushers everyone into the van, taking the driver's seat herself while Karkat and Gamzee hide in the back seats and you get into the passenger's side, still speechless. When next you look at her, she looks almost different. You had no idea she had such STRENGTH in her, even if it was of mind rather than body. She pulls off her mask and winks at you as she hammers the gas pedal, and your blood-pusher skips a beat.


	13. Spades Slick/Ms. Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spades Slick♥Miss Paint  
> Outlaw Couple: Two lovers who team up to do crime,and are usually on the run from the law.

When you get the paperwork for the two-man job you're gonna have to pull, you know just who to call. Turns out Ms. Paint, the woman who works down at the homeless shelter's soup kitchen serving an extensive menu of creative soups, has a sort of Robin Hood complex. You know the cut she takes goes straight to the shelter that's connected to the soup kitchen, and if you're being honest with yourself, you think it's a little bit silly, but you can't question her skill. Sure, you could take Droog or Hearts, but you're not lookin' for professionalism or brawn here. No, you need someone with the kinda resolve only a lady with drive's got, and even if you think she's silly for giving her cut to the shelter, she's the only one you know who's got that drive. 

So you call her, and you say that there's a job to be done and she says she's ready when you are and you say okay and that's the end of that conversation. You might've dragged it on a little longer, worked a little sweet talk into your words, but Ms. Paint isn't that kind of gal. She takes her conversation like she takes her orange juice: straight and pulp-free. You respect that about her, so you don't mix any pulp into your conversations with her, which is to say you keep it short, slightly tangy and to the point. Smooth, but not honey-smooth. Orange juice smooth.

Okay, that orange juice analogy is starting to get out of hand. You move on, standing up from your desk at the headquarters and heading out to your getaway car. You suppose it's also a get-there car, since you drive it to the heist and away from it, but that's just getting into semantics and you don't want to do that. You hate semantics. They're like pulpy orange juice.

Ms. Paint is waiting for you outside the soup kitchen when you pull up. You open the door for her like the gentleman you are, but you do it from the inside, because time is of the essence. She understands. You tell her that the job is to interrogate one of those green Felt jerkoffs and you need her to play the good cop. She says no, she wants to be the bad cop, and you say but you're always the bad cop and she says that you should embrace change and you say whatever. You grumble that she can be the bad cop for all you care but you're not going to be a very good good cop, and she laughs. You don't.

You show up at the job and get out of the car. The warehouse is one of yours and you really doubt that the Felt know where it is, but you get the big guns out of the trunk anyway and toss one to Ms. Paint who catches it expertly. She says thanks and you nod, still a little bitter about the bad cop thing. You brief, debrief and rebrief her on the information you're trying to get and she nods, putting on her bad cop face. You have to admit, it's a pretty good bad cop face, even if she is wearing a pink bonnet. You try out a good cop face and she says it's a work in progress. You say it's as good as it's gonna get and nod towards the warehouse. She says she's ready and you say so are you and there's an awkward moment before you finally lead the way inside.

Fin's waiting for you in there, tied to a chair and chattering on about something that you really couldn't care less about. You grease him up for Ms. Paint, letting him feel safe. She finishes the job a lot better than you expected her to. Maybe the old adage is right. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. You decide that that's stupid, and stop thinking about it immediately. Ms. Paint gets all the information you need and then you're outta there, speeding away in the getaway car that doubles as a get-there car. 

When you drop her off at the soup kitchen, you hand her a stack of cash and say thanks for the hard work Paint, and she says no problem Slick and smiles at you like she always smiles at you when a job is over. You almost pull away but then you tell her to wait. She waits. You ask her if she'd like to go to dinner sometime and she says she'd love to and you say you'll call her and then you drive off. You decide to ignore Clubs when he asks why your face is all reddish when you get home. You've got a date to get ready for, you don't need his crap right now, you say. He says oh and leaves it at that but the way he runs off giggling makes you think he's probably going to gush to Droog and Boxcars. You roll your eyes and set about making dinner reservations for you and Ms. Paint.


	14. Roxy/AR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal/Roxy
> 
> Narm: "Narm is a moment that is supposed to be serious, but due to either over-sappiness, poor execution, excessive Melodrama, or the sheer absurdity of the situation, or even a slight mistranslation, the drama is lost to the point of surpassing "cheesy" and becoming unintentionally funny" (TvTropes).

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --

TG: dirk?  
TT: Sorry, princess. He's in the shower.  
TG: perf :3  
TG: ur just the dude i was lookin 4  
TT: Oh?  
TG: *slides in 2 a teat @ the bar*  
TG: *seat omg ;)  
TT: In that case. *Clears throat.*  
TT: What'll it be, Ms. Lalonde?  
TG: oh u kno  
TG: the ush  
TT: The ush?  
TG: omg hal its shrot 4 USUAL  
TG: 4 a supercompuper u rly need 2 get w the times  
TT: Is that what the kids are calling it these days?  
TT: All right, whatever you say.  
TT: Let me just whip up a glass of "the ush".  
TG: good goooood *leans on th bar & grins @ u*  
TT: *Slides a glass of "the ush" over to you. It seems I've also decided to change up the classic jazz playing in the background. Usher's "Yeah" is now playing. You know. "The ush".*  
TG: omfg hal lolol  
TG: its pornounced like the 1st syllable of usual u dork  
TG: *...nah pornounced is p good im keepin it  
TT: I'm sorry, Rox. All I see when I read "the ush" is Usher.  
TT: It seems you're just going to have to deal with it.  
TG: were sposed 2 b at an old timey jizz club u cant just play usher  
TG: *JAZZ jfc  
TT: Usher is par for the course at our "jizz club".  
TT: In fact, he plays live on Wednesdays.  
TT: It just so happens that today is Wednesday.   
TG: no thats dumb if ushers playin live i want 2 flirt w him instead  
TG: no offense brobob but ushers got miiiiles of sexiness on u  
TT: Ouch, Roxy. I'm hurt.  
TT: You're going to have to give me a lift to the burn ward for that one.  
TG: dont u know its wrog 2 drive drunk  
TG: i could get arrested  
TG: then ud have even MORE competish  
TT: Aw, what? From who?  
TG: the popo obvs  
TG: im a sucker 4 a man in uniform ;)  
TT: Jesus. Can't take you anywhere, huh?  
TG: nope ;3  
TG: even if we DID make it 2 the burn ward  
TG: thered be all those hot hot ER drs  
TG: then ud REALLY be screwed ololol  
TT: Except not, because you'd be busy with Usher, the cop and the doctors.  
TG: lmfao exactly  
TG: ud hav 2 get in line motherfucker  
TT: I'd happily stand at the end of that queue.  
TG: aww thx cutie <33  
TT: Anytime, princess. <3  
TT: It's been fun, but Dirk's out of the shower.  
TG: aww boo :C was just startin 2 get fun too  
TT: Yeah, yeah. I'll remember not to give you "the ush" next time.  
TG: lmao but he was the best part!  
TG: later ;)  
TT: Later.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] --


	15. Aranea/Meenah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AraneaMeenah
> 
> Percussive Prevention - someone knocks out their loved one to keep them from getting in trouble.

You should have known better than to follow her here, even if she is your best friend -- or "best frond", as she would so aptly put it. Her strange nautical puns always did make you smile. Regardless, you always knew that she was into some morally questionable things, hung out with some morally questionable people. So far, she hadn't let you near any of them. That was, of course, until she called you up just two hours ago, clearly intoxicated and telling you to "ship your nerdy bass over to this party". You had studying to do, and normally, you would have said no without a second thought, but she sounded like she might need a steady hand to guide her home when it was all said and done. So you had agreed.

Now, you're frantically trying to drag her out of this back-alley, probably drug-ridden house. The cops have arrived and you're running out of time, but all Meenah can do is laugh and talk loudly. You regret coming here, or at least you think you'll regret it, for a brief moment. It doesn't take long for you to come to the realization that there was no way you wouldn't have come here; there is no branch of this timeline that would allow you to ignore your moirail's phone call. You decide, then, that you're glad you came -- if it weren't for you, the heiress would be toast. There's no way she'd be able to worm her way out of the police drones' grasp. 

"Come on, Meenah, don't puke," you say as you duck into a nearby closet, yanking her in with you. She yelps, and you clap a hand over her mouth, pulling away in disgust once she's inside with you and the door is shut. It appears that she's decided to lick your hand. Wonderful. 

Something about your expression seems to set her off and she's laughing. You try to hush her, but it's not working -- she's laughing and it's loud and obnoxious. Little giddy snorts are rushing out her gills with the air, and you look around desperately for some kind of solution. If she's not quiet, the police drones are going to come and find you and you'll both be arrested, heiress or no.

When you spot the heavy-looking lockbox, it's obvious what you have to do next. You don't want to hurt her, but it's the only way to save her -- and you -- from the drones quickly scouring the house. "I'm sorry, Meenah, but I have no other choice."

"Wait, what? Whoa, Serks, don't hit --" 

She doesn't finish that sentence. Probably because you've clobbered her over the head with the lockbox, and she's out cold. Now all that's left is to even your breathing and stay quiet until the drones, hopefully, go on their way.


	16. Eridan/Feferi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EridanFeferi
> 
> Trope: Teenagers obsessed with a band, covering their walls with their posters and doing anything to be able to meet them.

"ONE DIRECTION IS COMING TO SKAIA!!!!" came the nigh unintelligible screech over the phone. You hold it away from your head when it comes. Of course, you've already heard about the concert, and to hope that Feferi wouldn't hear about it too was foolish of you. You know better. She frequents all of the 1D fansites just like you do, and tracks their concert dates and locations just as faithfully. There was pretty much no way she wouldn't catch wind of their upcoming concert in your mutual home town. 

You listen as she drones on about how she's going to score VIP passes for the both of you, because she can't wait to meet Niall and she totally knows about your Zayn thing. You respond accordingly to all of her excitement, but deep down, you're dreading this concert and you know it. The 1D posters on your wall and lining the inside of your school locker have rendered you an outcast among the senior class of Skaia High, and pretty much nixed your chances of getting a girlfriend, like, ever.

At first you'd been okay with that. You thought it would be okay, because you had Feferi, and you had feelings for Feferi, but it's quickly become apparent that she doesn't share those same feelings. She talks about Niall like he's some kind of sex god, and you know you can't stand up to that. Just look at his complexion! The remnants of your teenage acne don't stand a chance, even if it is clearing up nicely, according to your housekeeper. 

"Hellooooo? Focus, Eridan! We have so much planning to do!" You snap back to reality at the sound of her annoyance and nod, even though she can't see it.

"Yeah, I know. It's gonna be awesome," you chime in, and you can almost hear her smile from three blocks away where she lives.

"Totally! I'll IM you with the details as soon as I talk to my mom. I'm so excited!" She hangs up after that, and you set your cell phone back down on your desk. You stare at it wistfully for a moment, and consider messaging Feferi then and there that you aren't going to go. That you don't want to go.

But you don't. You don't, and you know exactly why; your mutual membership in the 1D bandom is all that's holding you together as friends right now. College is looming ahead, and Feferi's going out of state for a marine biology degree while you're staying local for one in nuclear physics. As much as you simply aren't as interested in 1D as she is, you'll be damned if you miss your last big hurrah with Fef.

Besides, if you're being honest with yourself? Zayn _is_ pretty cute.


	17. Cronus/Roxy 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cronus♥Roxy
> 
> Trope: confessing love to the wrong person, in his passionate confession of undying love to Meenah, Cronus doesn’t see the girl split leaving him spewing words of romance to the new girl; a befuddled Roxy Lalonde.

"Meenah, vwe need to talk," came the voice over her shell-phone. She rolled her eyes. This wasn't the first time Cronus had called with some spiel like this, and it probably wouldn't be the last. She certainly didn't want to listen to it all over again; she had better shit to do. 

So she grabbed the nearest freshman. "Shore thing, loverbuoy," she intoned flatly into the microphone, just before she pressed the phone up against the freshman girl's ear and walked off. Lunch was more important to her than most things; especially the love sonnets of some scummy drop out.

Roxy Lalonde was ultimately confused by this gesture. She almost dropped the phone, but she caught it in time, and she was about to open her mouth to say something, like 'hey, she left' maybe, but the dude was already on a tirade and who was she to stop him? So she leaned against the wall of the girl's bathroom, listening to him as he talked.

"Look, I knowv vwe aren't on the best of terms all the time, but that doesn't mean vwe can't be together. In fact, I'vwe thought a lot about it, and I think it could really spice things up betvween us. Vwe could be like sexy rivwals or something, I don't knowv. The point is that I lovwe you, babe. I'm in lovwe vwith you. You'vwe got this style, this glowv that only you'vwe got. You havwe to havwe some kind of feelings for me. Vwe'vwe knowvn each other since vwe vwere kids, babe, that's gotta count for something. Listen, I knowv you're still mad at me about the wvhole flirting vwith Aranea thing, and I get that, but let me make it up to you. Let me take you out to dinner. I made reservwations at this sushi joint I think you'll like. Vwhaddaya say, babe?"

There was silence for a long time. Roxy just kind of stared at the opposite wall for a minute, her expression an awkward and unattractive mixture of pity and confusion. Had this dude really been trying to get with the girl who owned this phone for that long? And had she really been trailing him along like that? Shit sucked, and didn't she know it. It was another few seconds before she said anything, though, still not entirely sure what to say at all.

"Uh, hi. I'm Roxy. The girl you were trying to call just handed me her phone and left, so... Sorry."

"Oh shit, really? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I'm sorry, Roxy was it? Yeah, I'm sorry." There was a pause. "...Did it vwork?"

"What do you mean 'did it work'? She didn't hear a word of it, dude. So I guess that's a no."

"No, no. I mean on you. Did it vwork on you? Vwanna go out to dinner vwith me?"

She hesitated. His voice sounded so hopeful and pathetic all at once, and before she knew it, the word 'sure' had flown out of her mouth, followed by her cell phone number.

By the time Meenah came to retrieve her phone, Roxy was still in a daze. She handed the phone back without so much as a word to the senior girl and ran off to the cafeteria to tell Janey about her date on Friday night. As weird as the entire experience had been, she couldn't help but feel a little excited.


	18. Jane/Roxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane<3Roxy  
> (onesided)
> 
> Trope: when a character professes their love for someone who has a romantic interest in them, only to turn around and profess the same love for everyone else in the room, therefore rendering the gesture platonic.

When you'd invited your best friend Jane Crocker to your twenty-first birthday party, you hadn't expected her to actually drink. She was never one to drink, not at any of your previous birthdays or parties you'd hosted. In fact, she'd always seemed to be adamantly against it. You were, suffice to say, more than surprised when she showed up and hit the sauce. You shrugged it off, and by now, you're hitting the sauce yourself. Your instinct tells you to watch over Janey, but hey, it's your twenty-first freakin' birthday, and besides, Jane's responsible. She wouldn't have started drinking if she didn't know what she was doing.

It's barely an hour later when that idea goes through the roof. You've stumbled with Jane into the upstairs bathroom -- it's a miracle you both don't go tumbling backwards down the stairs, shit -- and you're holding her bangs back away from her face while she pukes. "Jeez, Janey, you shouldn'ta drank so much. You're gonna be waaaay hungover tomorrow," you say, though she can't reply yet. She's still vomiting into your mom's designer toilet.

By the time she's done, you're leaning against the wall, having abandoned Jane's scarce bangs. She didn't get any puke in them, which is a good sign. She wipes her mouth off on one of your mom's luxury hand towels. You don't mind, though. Jane's your best friend, and you love her to death. She could wipe her mouth in your hair and you'd probably let her do it. She smiles, dropping the towel, and leans forward.

"Roxxxxxy," she says. You think she's trying to be quiet, but it's not working. You might have given her a funny look, except that you're drunk, too, so you laugh.

"Jaaaaaaaaane," you respond in the exact same tone she'd used.

"I love you, Roxy," she says. It's clear as day -- or, as clear as she's gonna get, drunk as she is. You swallow, staring at her for a few seconds. Your heart is pounding. She can't be serious.

You give a nervous laugh. "I love you too, Janey. We're best friends."

"Noooo," she whines. "I loooove you. Like. Looooooooove you." She smiles and you can't help but smile back, and you think maybe you should kiss her right then, maybe you should kiss her like you've wanted to since the sixth grade, and maybe it would all work out --

Before you can finish that thought, she's got Mutie in her lap, and she's petting the cat and whispering to it. "You too, Mutieeee. I loooove you."

You sigh. You should have known better than to think this could be a thing, especially with Jane in her current state. Instead you just smile and laugh, and tell Janey to stop hitting on your cat.


	19. Eridan/Feferi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eridan & Feferi
> 
> Turtle Island: A turtle so large it's mistaken for an island, usually ancient enough that plants grow on its back.

Your name is ERIDAN AMPORA and you're pretty sure there's a girl living on your back.

You suppose that sort of comes with the territory of being an island-sized turtle. There's a fine layer of dirt over your back, and some greenery has grown on it over the years, along with some basic forms of life, but you never once expected a troll to take up residence there. You're not sure how you know she's there, but you do, and you spend a lot more time thinking about it than you care to admit. In your defense, there's not all that much else to think about while you swim around the vast Alternian Sea.

You have this whole idea of her in your head. You're not sure how you know she's a she at all, but you just know it, and you're just arrogant enough to believe that she might be some kind of princess or something. You haven't exactly brushed up on your troll legend and mythology, but you're pretty sure they have that sort of thing. In your mind's eye, she has long, flowing hair, but it's a mess. You like to think that trolls, while regal, have a wildness about them. This girl's, you think, manifests in her hair and her wide, toothy grin.

You imagine that she likes to swim. You've been well aware of a lake on your shell's surface for a long time now, longer than you can remember, and sometimes, you like to think she swims in it. You're pretty sure she lives near it, at any rate. Maybe, if she weren't just a speck of dust from your perspective, you would have that in common. 

You seem to recall legend telling of trolls' majestic horns somewhere along the line. You imagine the girl living on your back has long pointed ones, though you aren't sure in which direction they would point, when you really think about it. You've always just imagined them as upward-pointing. Maybe with a little outward flare.

If you could sigh wistfully, you would. Sometimes (or all the time), it's lonely being an island-sized turtle. It's hard, and no one understands. You wish that one day you'd meet the girl that you suspect is living near the lake on your back, but you know it's a pointless thing to wish for. Even if you could let her know you know she's there, she would have no way of communicating back, and she's far too small for you to see. You suppose you'll just have to settle for your imagination.


End file.
